


What Can I Say

by gravitation (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anne is a liar, Cemetery, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Hurt/Comfort, Louis is dead, M/M, Major Character Injury, Maybe - Freeform, Oblivious!Harry, Revelations, Zayn is confused, triggering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gravitation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis used to bring bruises and broken bones to show and tell, but never really told.<br/>Things are put on hold for close to nine years before Harry realizes that Louis really isn’t that clumsy. He’s also not dead.</p><p>DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thousand Miles Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Anne is actually kind of rude in this but she's just trying to protect her kid ok  
> I like Eleanor sorry  
> Maybe Liam and Niall will come later

Louis felt pain every day. It was like a forced bad habit, an unwilling one at that. Yet nothing sits in his heart as badly as the memory of when his best and only friend left. No, that was the moment everything really did start hurting.

To Harry, Louis was clumsy. He was rugged and carefree. Louis turned up at school with black eyes and yellow bruises and a killer smile, always vivid and telling of how adventurous he’d thought he was when he fell out of the tallest tree in his backyard. Or when he’d lost his footing on the staircase that opened up to his door and sprained an ankle and a wrist. No, Louis was quite possibly the clumsiest and most amusing person Harry had even met. And he loved him for it.

Harry didn’t seem to notice the hesitant glances and audible swallows the time Louis laughed and snorted through his story telling of the time when he wasn’t paying attention to the sidewalk cracks on Goodacre St. when he was riding his bike. Harry knew Louis actually didn’t have a bike, but he didn’t seem to remember in that moment. Harry was laughing and grinning that stupid smile with the dimples, loving every minute of Louis. He didn’t know why the other students stared at him funny during classroom story time, when he turned up 10 minutes late, missing one of his teeth but still smiling. And blue eyes were still bright. 

Harry didn’t know why Louis never invited him over to his house, or why he was always out and about the neighborhood. Even at 1:00am, when Harry’s mum had made sure Harry was in bed by eight, Louis was walking the streets.

Harry didn’t notice, but his parents’ did. And so did everyone else.

Louis hadn’t been at school in two days, which was something abnormal of him. Louis always came to school, even the time he’d broken his collarbone. Before he went to the hospital. Harry fell under the impression Louis was just sick. Well, because that was what his parents had told him.

But Harry snuck out of his room late that night, at the time when his parents talked about private things. Silently pulling the metal grate of the air vent he knew was on his bedroom floor, right above his dad’s work office, he pressed his ear towards the open, rectangular hole in his carpet, but he could hear nothing but mumbling. Sighing, admitting silent defeat ten minutes in, he replaced the grate over the gap in the floor and reluctantly returned to bed.

The next morning, Harry woke up to his mother’s face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her eyes brighter red than humanly healthy. Tomato red, unnaturally so. But she was sobbing and Harry overlooked the hung smell of onion from her hair as she pulled him up from his lying and hugged him close.   
“Harry, darling…”

“Mum…what’s wrong? Are you alright? Where’s dad?”

“Your father’s fine, dear. But… your friend, Louis-“

“Louis? Mom, what hap-“ Harry began.

“Honey, I’m terribly sorry. Louis was killed. He was playing out in the street last night and-“ His mother sniffled and Harry was too bug-eyed and dry-throat to see her nose wasn’t even running, “he was hit by a car. Honey, he’s gone.”

And Harry cried. But what he didn’t notice was that everything of his was already packed into brown cardboard boxes. He didn’t hear the moving truck’s engine rumbling outside. He didn’t know they were moving until he was in the car on the way to Cheshire. And far, far away from Doncaster.

But it didn’t matter because there was nothing, and no one, keeping him there anymore.


	2. Can't Shake You

“Mum, it’s far too late for me to turn around now. No, I’m not using a tone. I’m sorry, mum. No, I’m already here, ok? Bye Mum, love you.”

Frankly, and albeit kindly, hanging up on his mother, Harry sighed. He’d never once been given a proper reason as to why she hadn’t wanted him to come back to Doncaster, excuses plenty, but never legitimate answer. It had been close to nine years he’d been gone, he was sure everyone had grown up and moved out a long time ago. If that was even what she was worried about. All the budding eighteen-year-old wanted out of his birthplace was an escape.

University had undoubtedly taken a toll on the boy, and his mental health especially. Manchester wasn’t the kindest and in all honesty Harry was tired. He was exhausted, and this was spring break for christ’s sake. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to Cheshire for a week when Niall and Liam went on holiday.

Doncaster was the only other option within his budget.

Harry had only kept contact with Zayn out of everyone from the town in all nine years, so maybe he was a bit excited to see him aswell. Zayn had mentioned him getting a job at the cinema off Tuscand Rd, that he worked weekends from 5-9pm. Naturally that was his first destination, there wasn’t much to do in the town by yourself.

But then he remembered.

It had been nine years though, could he really blame himself for forgetting? But then again his family was full of excuses, weren’t they? He needed to visit the graveyard, he supposed. The tears were gone though, the dread and shock of Louis’ death was long over…but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still wary of the memory. 

Then the guilt began to develop to a sinking feeling and he saw the mirrored images from the deepest pieces of his memories, having to watch, having to remember. These weren’t just the regretful things that people always had plaguing their minds before night fell. These memories weren’t pushing the relief of unconscious rest away for the night. They were drawing him closer and closer to the tears he thought he’d left there some nine years before. And that hurt. The sting was worse than it was before, with the added guilt of not visiting Louis’ grave. He’d just left, and he was finally experiencing the remorse for it.

He assured himself that if he had a car, he would already be on his way to the graveyard…but then again his family was known for excuses…not reasons.  
So in walking to the cinema, he silenced out the world and the voices and his consciousness and for once it was nice. That was until he stepped through the double doors to the theater and everything chaotic he was trying to avoid erupted. Well, figuratively speaking.

The lobby in its entirety, snack bar and ticket takers and all, silenced. And yet it was the loudest silence he’d ever experienced. He looked into the faces of everyone, recognizing most but not all…and the ones he’d never met unacknowledged the boy’s existence and proceeded to their movies. The life of the room was vacant, all up until someone spoke up. Harry wouldn’t be able to thank Zayn enough.

“Harry fucking Styles, is that you?!” and Harry’s attention was drawn solely to the brown eyes and chiseled jaw line and tall dark hair that was Zayn Malik. It took a moment for processing before he realized Zayn was hugging him and patting his back, the room still unbearably quiet. Harry let himself smile, laughing softly in the only way he felt he could and ruffled Zayn’s hair, realizing just how much taller he’d gotten now in comparison.

And then the room literally did explode, in the most practical way. 

“Harry!” he heard from two very feminine voices, stepping back from Zayn’s embrace and immediately taking in a brown head of hair alongside a blonde one.

“Oof.” Harry muttered as the Hannah and Eleanor plowed into his chest, glancing down at the girls with a small smile in return.

“Is that Harry Styles?”

“Harry’s back!”

“Is Anne here too, do you think?”

“God he is a fucking giant.”

The girls took a step back and grinned, Zayn smiling faintly in his way just behind them.

There were never ending hugs and people ruffling his hair or poking his dimples, and he was momentarily proud of himself for knowing and remembering everyone. But only momentarily.

The room’s crowd thinned as people ran to catch their films, whispering pieces of gossip that would be halfway across the town before their movie ended. But Zayn, Eleanor, and Hannah stayed, smirking up at him and it was if he’d never left in the first place. God, did everyone grow up though. He’d have never recognized the girls if Zayn hadn’t sent pictures.

“Not that we aren’t excited to see you, but what are you even doing here?!” Eleanor asked, brown eyes bright, almost as much so as Harry remembered they were.

Harry smiled and opened his mouth to answer, but Zayn covered for him.

“Just wanted to come see us, He’s out studying psychology in Manchester, aren’t you Harry?”

Harry found the moment and closed his mouth, nodding and feeling his cheeks dusting lightly with pink at the attention. It didn’t last long though, before the girls had told him they too had a movie that was likely already ten minutes in. Promptly they slipped out of the conversation, waving and giggling like the two Harry remembered they were.

“It’s nice to see you mate, everyone’s buzzed.” Zayn paused, glancing up at Harry, “You sure have gotten damn tall though.” He said with his characteristic half-smile. 

Harry arched an eyebrow, “Sure you haven’t only shrunk?” 

Zayn just smiled and rolled his eyes, “I’m sure that’s it. But listen I get off at nine. Me and Eleanor are going for drinks later, you’ve got to come.” Zayn told him, continuing to tear off the stubbed ends of the tickets as he was handed them.

Harry nodded slowly, aware that the atmosphere was slowing his thought processing down more significantly than usual. Attempting to speed it up, he fumbled. “Um, hey Zayn. Do-Do you think I could borrow your car for a bit? I promise I’ll be back before you need it.”

Zayn glanced back curiously as the line halted for a moment. “Um, sure Harry. What do you need it for?” he asked, turning back to the movie-goers with a forcedly friendly smile.

Harry felt his mouth go dry and fell silent for a moment. Puffing out his cheeks a moment in distraction, he swallowed down the guilt. “I-I was going to go visit Louis...since I haven't ever...” Harry mumbled, but looked up to Zayn anyway.

Eyebrows were knit together in confusion, eyes just as questioning and prying as the thin line Zayn had pressed between his lips. His head was tipped just left, almost like a dog’s might, but Zayn seemed to realize this and straightened out his neck quite frankly. 

“Um, Harry. I don’t think that's such a good idea....” Zayn began.

_Ouch._ "No Zayn I really need to do this."

"No Really Harry this isn't a good idea. Just wait till my shifts over, I'll go with you."

"Zayn." Harry said firmly, closing his eyes tightly for a moment in a small attempt to gather his courage. He looked up, "I need to do this by myself."

Zayn opened his mouth to protest again, but it was quite obvious that Harry would not be giving in. He fished his car keys out of his pocket slowly. "Just be...prepared for it, ok? You haven't been here in a long time...He's-"

Harry just nodded and felt his throat closing in the guilt he had swallowed, shakily taking the car keys from his friend and turning on his heels without another word. Zayn looked perpetually confused, and that was what dug the deepest in Harry’s throat.


	3. Twisted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO IS READING THIS AND EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED!!  
> YOU MADE MY DAY!!  
> I hope this isn't too wordy.

The drive was frustratingly short, but that meant nothing in terms of Harry’s though process. No, he was thinking for ten people in a ten minute car ride. His life was always like that, too much, too fast. In a way he was content with it, but in moments like these he wished the universe hadn’t been such a bitch in deciding how long ten minutes actually lasted. But life was cruel and so was reality, and he was pulling up the gravel in ten minutes.

But Harry didn’t get out. He let the car run, parked in the gravel pathways and staring out at the little stone hedges that were so uniformally placed in the gravesite. He failed to notice his death grip hold on the steering wheel until he was pulling the keys from their ignition. 

He couldn’t do this. Harry realized this the moment the car shook to a silent halt. The guilt was welling up in his throat; he could feel the tightening near the back of his throat and it hurt to swallow. Clenching his teeth helped none, but then again neither did anything else he’d tried when the same feeling occurred back home. Yes, Harry had felt remorse and even regret from all those miles away. But being here, actively acknowledging that he hadn’t been concerned enough to even _remember_ that he’d actually never returned, the emotion was unbearable. It was eating away at his insides, the intense feeling of guilt, and he knew nothing would cease it except to step out of the car. And yet that decision was so far away.

He’d left Louis dead. Not literally but it might as well have been. Louis had been his best friend for nine years in itself, and he’d ever so conveniently forgotten that that friend had been hit by a car in the middle of the night another nine years before today. _He didn’t even attend the funeral. He’d just left._ This dawned upon Harry, and it became the last push for him to do the same on the car door. 

Harry shut the door loudly, but he was too far gone from himself to realize just how loud it was. There were only two other souls in the graveyard, the obvious gravedigger who was doing his job and a young lady around the age 12. Their attention drew them from their silences as they heard the door shut, looking over at Harry’s ghost-like form that was beginning its walk quite emptily down the rows and rows of endless headstones. If Harry was in his right mind he’d have wondered what the young girl was doing here by herself, but that, obviously, wasn’t the case. Or Harry’s real concern. 

He coughed violently, only succeeding in a further raw throat. 

He knew reasonably well that he wasn’t quite familiar with the arrangements of how the graves were placed. He hadn’t an idea how plots were arranged in the cemetery, which only further forced him to do what he wasn’t comfortable with. He approached the empty plot, sparing himself a moment to watch the gravedigger doing just that, digging. Fashioned above the rectangular hole was a system of pulleys and mechanical shovels. Why the husky man was doing to labor completely without mechanics was besides his concern though.

“Um, excuse me, sir?” The man looked up from his digging with tired, bloodshot eyes and Harry watched a bead of brown sweat drip from his forehead to his cheek before the man lifted his sleeve. His jaw was set, that alone was a sign that he was busy. Obviously. 

“I-I was just…wondering how the plots were, um, arranged. I’m looking for someone…” Harry forced out, surprised by how hoarse his voice became halfway through. The gravedigger let out a noise that was probably closest to a grown or a groan, like he was asked this often. 

The man arched a bushy eyebrow, silence sweeping over the site as the man and Harry seemed to be waiting for something. The man became impatient.

“Who?”

“Oh, um…Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson’s grave…” Harry forced out, feeling his throat closing. If he weren’t preoccupied by it, he would have noticed the confusion on the man’s face. His gaze almost seemed to be accusing Harry of insanity. Harry did, however, catch this look and the idea he decided was behind it made him feel no better. Did anyone ever visit Louis’ grave? Was the reason behind the man’s confusion because no one even _cared_ enough to ask him where Harry’s best friend lay dead, under six feet of dirt? 

“The Tomlinson plots are in the far left corner. They don’t have headstones, just plaques in the ground. Don’t miss it.” The man said, dismissing Harry with a glance and letting him know not to bother him again, ever so subtly.

Harry received the hint and nodded in silent gratitude in fear his voice would fail him. 

Unlike the drive there, the walk to the plots was agonizingly long, only giving Harry more time to brace himself rather carelessly against the many guilts and regrets that still came over him. But it still hurt.

But he knew that it would only be downhill from here.

Harry bit his lip rather violently, tasting blood and seeing blood as it dripped off his lip onto the stone that lay permanently wedged into the grass. His sight was distorted from the water beading in his eyes, but he could still read the plaque all too clearly.

**Tomlinson**

His knees buckled, reminding Harry that he couldn’t stand this. Quite literally he couldn’t stand it. Kneeling down tentatively, as if he might crush Louis’ body under the weight of him…like he didn’t know the bones were six fet under. He sucked in a choked breath, having to cough just to clear his sinuses. The tears were falling freely now and he didn’t do a damn thing to stop them. He couldn’t.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he brushed the fresh cut grass and excess dirt off the plaque. Being there had taken a lot out of him in itself, so forcing his eyes open to read was nothing short of all he had left.

**Loving Friend, Brother, Husband, and Father.**

**1965-2011**

Harry stared at the stone for what seemed like ages, but not to him. It must have been a long while though, because the young girl approached him, standing on her toes timidly behind his hunched form. She looked as surprised as Harry looked confused.

“Um, excuse me mister? But…what are you doing here?” her short voice piped, but Harry wasn’t really listening.

Harry stared at the words, mind reeling and stuck on repeat _husbandfatherhusbandfatherhusbandfather._ He scrambled back on his heels, still kneeling, and frantically shuffled rather ungracefully on his hands and knees to the adjacent grave. He scrubbed away the grass.

**Joannah “Jay” Tomlinson**

**1967-2000**

The girl peeked over his shoulder, reading the words with innocence and her full attention. But Harry’s mind was reeling and his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. His eyes darted left of the stone, only to find other family names on both sides. There wasn’t another plaque. There wasn’t another Tomlinson.

This realization sent Harry collapsing to his back, hand resting over his fast beating heart. He looked up at the girl he now noticed was there and she took a step back.

“Um, I think you’re in the wrong place, sir.” She said quietly, but finally sighed and sat down in the grass next to Harry’s head, crossing her legs underneath her. “No one ever comes to visit these people…”

Harry breathed heavily, just watching the young girl while his mind whirred around the idea, If Louis wasn’t here…where was he buried, if at all? But Harry couldn’t respond, and they were just there for another ten minutes before the girl sighed and let Harry alone. 

It took Harry another ten to sit up and look at the first stone, only to further notice the word **loving** had been scratched at with something sharp. The word was disfigured, but that didn’t mean much to Harry yet. He was still painfully unaware. 

He was unaware as he stood up.

He was unaware when he walked back to his car.

He was unaware when he drove Zayn’s car back to the movie theater.

He was unaware up until he walked into the place, then he was just confused.

Zayn took one look at him and his eyes widened significantly. He handed the tickets back to their owners and jogged immediately over to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder and searching Harry’s eyes for something that he ultimately didn’t find. Harry watched with confusion as Zayn watched him.

“Harry, are you ok? He didn’t touch you did he?”

“Zayn, where is Louis’ grave?”

“What are you talking about mate? Louis…he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I went to the cemetery and his grave wasn’t there…”

An uncomfortable silence settled in the lobby, everyone had their attention drawn to the boys. Zayn’s attention was on Harry’s and Harry’s was somewhere else. Zayn stared at Harry until Harry stared back, both looks painfully confused.

“Harry…” Zayn paused. “You didn’t think that…Louis’ dead, do you?”

Harry stopped breathing. “What are you talking about.” It wasn’t a question.

“Louis…he’s not…he’s not dead, Harry. Why did you-“

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

“Harry, calm down okay-“

“No. No, Zayn! He was, my mom told me, he got his by a car the night we moved away. He was hit and killed on impact don’t tell me im worng.” 

Zayn seemed more surprised by this than anyone else in the room though. He watched Harry closely, searching for the punchline but coming to empty-handed. “He did get hit by a car once, but he only broke a rib or two. He’s not…”

Harry looked broken, eyes conflicting with his insides that wanted so desperately to believe his mum hadn’t lied to him. He squeezed his eyes shut in weak attempt to push everything out. 

“Louis isn’t dead, Harry. Not really.”

Harry looked up, suddenly his knees feeling weak. Zayn walked him over to a bench and set him down carefully, knowing all too well how broken Harry was...just from the outside. “What do you mean, not really?”

“He’s not the Louis you remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhh, not sure if im happy with this.  
> thoughts?


	4. All you had was a memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO IS READING THIS  
> IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS I SWEAR TO GOD  
> YOU ARE ALL MY JESUSES

“Ha! I can’t believe you thought he was dead!” Eleanor elbowed Hannah violently in the ribs at the end of her outburst, everyone in the room besides Harry signaling it was likely her time to leave. The girl didn’t need to be told twice. “Um, sorry. I’ll just…” she pushed out the door and left with the short sound of a bell.

Eleanor looked back to Harry, who was quickly downing another glass, and rubbed his shoulder tentatively. She glanced over said shoulders to Zayn who sat opposite her. He raised his eyebrows with a shrug, looking back to his friend.

“How could you have not told me he was here…” Harry mumbled, folding his arms infront of him and face planting into them, hair falling all directions. The bartender looked as if he was going to say something, but he quickly decided against it and moved down the counter top. 

“I told you Harry, you said you didn’t want to talk about him…so I just, didn’t. I thought you just didn’t want to talk to him or something. I don’t know.” Zayn explained, possibly outnumbering the amount of drinks Harry had previously downed. He looked back to Eleanor, who was clearly just as lost about what to do as the boys were.

“Well,” Harry stood abruptly, his friends grabbing his arms quickly before he nearly toppled over, “Imma go see him,” and the taller boy made a move to leave before Eleanor and Zayn pulled his tipsy frame back to is seat. The two shared a look before Eleanor leant her face lower, to meet Harry’s tired eyes.

“Harry, you’re really out of it tonight. Why don’t we just…go see him tomorrow? When you’re in your right mind.” She suggested, clearly not up for settling for less. Harry was persistent.

“I just…I need to see him okay?” he slurred, the alcohol just beginning to take effect on him.

No one moved or spoke for as long as five minutes, each trying desperately to decide what really was best. The situation called for much more thought, and the noisy bar on a Friday night wasn’t the most ideal place.

“Look. Um, Louis…he always comes out about now. He hangs around the park for about an hour while it’s empty… we can go _see_ him, if you’d like. I wouldn’t recommend going to talk to him though,” Zayn offered, catching Eleanor’s worried glance but deciding that if Harry wanted to ever talk with Louis again, he needed to know what he was going up against. It was probably better Harry is drunk anyway.

Harry was very quiet for a long time, but he eventually gave in with a curt nod and let his friends lead him out, his mind reeling to the extent he almost didn’t hear the chime above the door as they left. The three walked the few blocks, rather than drove, before the park slowly came to sight. Harry remembered most of it, the park swings and the bike path. But he remembered it in the daytime, when the kids would tear the place to pieces…when he was nine and Louis was eleven. He pushed the memories down. This wasn’t the time.

Zayn led them to the bushes and overgrowth of the adjacent forest, knowing all too well that they were virtually stalking their friend. But he knew Louis wouldn’t talk to Harry willingly. Hell, he wouldn’t talk to Zayn more than once a week and it had been two years in the least since Eleanor had spoken to him. Louis was different and he wasn’t sure if Harry would be able to face him after this.

It was nearly twenty minutes they sat behind a row of clean-cut hedges. Eleanor braided her hair eight different times and Zayn watched Harry watch the park for long enough to know that even if Harry was proper drunk, he was still aware of what was going on. This would hurt, Zayn knew that all too well.

Only when Harry’s eyes widened and he leant forward on his knees rather than sitting back did Zayn know Louis was here. Eleanor dropped the fishtail she’d been working on, the two of them watching Harry rather than Louis or the park.

Harry breathed in sharply, eyebrows knit towards one another as the figure slowly walked along the bike path, kicking along a freed piece of concrete with his shoe. 

He was taller than Harry remembered obviously, but he was smaller than he expected. Louis was well fit enough, not really _short_ , but small. His shoulders were low and inverted, he was halfway-closed in on himself as he walked nearer to their hiding place. Louis’ hair was messy and stood up in all directions, much different from the straight sweep over his forehead that Harry remembered. He was clad in clothes that might have been two sizes too big for him, the length of his sweatpants rolled at his ankles and his waist, jumper overly large and baggy with his hands hidden in his pockets.

When he came closer was when Harry saw his face. He took in a half-breath and held it unconsciously, biting down on his lip hard. He was too far gone to feel Eleanor and Zayn’s hands holding him down from his silent pleas to stand. 

Louis’ face was broken. In so many places, he was broken. Hairline scars littered his skin, the larger ones inching more towards his forehead and cheeks, but the most breaking ones lingered by his eyes. 

Louis’ eyes were empty. Heart wrenchingly empty and tired and _gone_. They weren’t so full of life anymore that Harry thought maybe there was a little piece of sun in them. The bright and careless blue was dirtied. They were so _left_ , as if the light had just up and gone. As if someone took it with them. As if it were never there at all.

Harry let out a muffled whimper, only because Eleanor had her slim fingers over his mouth to keep him quiet. Only because Zayn was holding his chest tight and back, because Harry was aching to get up and scream and run away from this. He couldn’t bear to see it. 

And then he did see it.

A circle.

A god damned _circle_ around the left of Louis’ eyes. As if someone had taken a paintbrush to his skin and drawn a ring around his left eye. But this mark was permanent. A paintbrush was gentle. A pen was gentle. A marker even more so. The ring was drawn of flesh and metal. Someone had just taken a _knife_ to Louis’ face.

It was ten minutes later and Louis was gone and he didn’t know how strongly Eleanor and Zayn were holding him down. He didn’t know how violently he was sobbing or that the reason he couldn’t see was because he was holding his own hand in his eyes. He didn’t remember falling asleep or moving or anything at all.

All he remembered was a circle and eyes that were lost to everything.

And he came to, to Eleanor and Zayn’s concern and worry. And Zayn’s words hurt his head.

_”It’s not your fault Harry.”_

It wasn’t until he heard them that he realized that was all he’d been saying for the last hour.

His throat was raw from _”it’s my fault.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow im not sure if that's how I wanted the chapter to end but whatever  
> actually I don't like this at all  
> sorry


	5. Believing a Liar is Feeding the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REALLY short but it's a start. (like only 600 words)  
> ill update again later but you all deserved something after waiting 2 months :/

Harry didn’t leave Zayn’s couch for a total of 2.5 days and every time Zayn came back to the flat, Harry was staring at the tv screen. He stared at it all day, turning it on for fractions of seconds at a time before clicking it off again, as if the noise or the light bothered him. It probably did, headache and all.

 

Zayn had noticed Harry’s eyes weren’t swollen shut any longer, not since 1.25 days before then, since Harry’d cried for an entire evening before he fell asleep on Eleanor’s shoulder. And she allowed it only so that he wouldn’t quite literally drown in his own tears while asleep, but she and Zayn both had a life to attend to. Harry was alone almost ¾ of the time. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about.

Wandering over to the couch, Zayn moved the empty boxes of tissues to the coffee table and sat back, subtly glancing over at Harry who was unwillingly drifting to sleep and fighting it.

“Harry…just go to sleep. You need to stop overthinking things.” Zayn said knowing he’d only said the same thing the day earlier. He turned to face the misery that had become the only backdrop Harry could stand. Harry’s head nodded twice before he could look back at Zayn and not resemble some form of miserable unconsciousness. They stared at each other, Harry more half-heartedly, for a minute in the least.

“You don’t get it.” Harry mumbled hoarsely, tone devoid of emotion and quite honestly, everything. He brought his knees up to his chest, hiding his face in them and wrapping his arms around his head, as if to block everything out, but everyone knows that when things outside go quiet, your mind starts to scream in retaliation. Harry groaned.

“Okay, no. No, I don’t. You’re right.” Zayn paused, glancing towards the blank tv screen and silently reaching over to the remote on the coffee table. He flicked it on, the room livening up with the sound of sport broadcasts and anchormen. Harry went mad. 

His neck almost snapped with the speed he looked up and Zayn worried he’d be suffering from whiplash and if not that, the boy’s eyes must be white on the insides.

“Turn it off.” Harry growled, eyes menacing from the lack of rest. 

“No Harry. Tell me, I want to understand.”

Harry collapsed face-first into the sofa, groaning lethargically. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, voice muffled by the couch cushions. Zayn flicked him across the back of the head.

“Obviously. But you’ll go insane if you keep dwelling on this, Harry, whatever it is that’s bothering you.” 

“Are you fucking serious.” Harry retorted half-heartedly, mumbling. He sat up, hair falling over his forehead and eyes tired and wet and just _dead_. “What would you do if your parents lied to you for _years_ , that your best friend was dead, and you come back…and suddenly, he’s not. He was here the whole time and now he’s just-“ 

Harry pushed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, not crying, just tired of thinking. “He’s broken and I don’t know why. How would you be able to think that it’s _not_ your fault somehow?” Harry paused, looking at Zayn with intense eyes. “So don’t you fucking tell me you don’t know what’s bothering me. Just tell me what happened to him.” He demanded, a hint of desperation flooding his words.

Zayn sighed. “It’s not my place to tell you, Harry. Don’t you understand that?”

“Then let Louis tell me himself.”

A dreary silence lowered above their heads, mingling with sharp eyes and heavy breathing and contemplating looks.

“Fine.”


	6. Frank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING YES IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF FOR UPDATING BC I PROMISED  
> IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS CHAPTER  
> BUT THERE'S FINALLY LARRY INTERACTION OMG

Six times. 

Six times Zayn tried to persuade Harry into thinking that he really didn’t want to go through with this. And that was just on the drive there. He was currently working on attempt seven when Zayn pulled over to the side of the road outside the run-down house that held a vague place in Harry’s memory. Harry’s stomach flipped at the sight of it, but now, several years older, he realized that nothing had changed. That the bushes weren’t clipped like Harry’s mum had done theirs. The door was crudely painted red and the garage door had a massive dent in it that was close to unfixable. 

Harry remembered a sort of garden in the back, but he couldn’t have imagined what it must look like now. 

“…And you know, he might be a total dick to you because-“

“Really Zayn, I’m going to do this. You don’t have to come with.” Harry interrupted, realizing only then how long Zayn’s persuasion had already rambled. Zayn sighed, watching Harry watch him for a long moment before he caved and put the car into park. 

“Fine fine, but I’ll be staying here if you don’t mind.” Harry smiled almost too widely and Zayn knew Harry wasn’t completely aware of his situation. Zayn knew one thing about Louis. The whole town knew it too. Louis was empty and Harry wasn’t going to be able to change it. But there was no going back now, it was too far out of his hands. 

Walking up the cracked driveway, Harry quite honestly couldn’t feel if he was actually moving, or how fast he was going. The door had seemed so far from the street, and standing infront of it now, Harry wished he would never get there. 

He paused before moving to knock, mind on autopilot.

The problem was his hand didn’t ever reach the chipped red coat of paint; it just hovered aimlessly in the air in front of him. He stared foreword at what wasn’t a wooden door, but a circle of pale, scarred skin around the hollow blue eye that stared at him right back. 

He couldn’t move his hand down, let alone acknowledge that he was conscious. Louis was standing in front of him, given he looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster, but Louis was _there_. And he was _breathing_. And he wasn’t the Louis he remembered.

“How did you…?” Harry began, but he fell mute as his eyes darted spastically back and forth and back and forth between scar after scar that littered Louis’ face. Louis arched an eyebrow, Harry wincing at the sight of the scars that moved with it.

“If you’re wondering how I knew you were here it’s because you’ve been standing here for twenty minutes.” An unrecognizable voice spoke. Harry turned around, looking for the someone who’d spoken up, even peering over Louis’ shoulder to see if he had company. But the only other person there was Zayn who’d fallen asleep at the wheel ten minutes after watching Harry, unmoving, at Louis’ doorstep. 

Louis’ voice was tired and raspy and hoarse and it lacked everything that could ever have been the kid Harry knew from way back when. He looked up at Harry expectantly, with an uninterested twist to his lips. When the older boy realized he would be getting nothing out of Harry, he looked sad and disappointed. He reached out and touched Harry’s hand that was still hovering in midair in front of his nose. Harry’s eyes immediately shifted to stare at Louis’ smaller hands with calloused fingers and rough palms, but the only thing on his mind was that he wasn’t even _warm_. Louis’ hand wasn’t even giving off heat and Harry might’ve pushed back the idea that maybe Louis did die. Because he didn’t even feel alive.

Louis lowered Harry’s fist back to his side before pulling his own hand back at a pace that gave no hints of anything. It wasn’t slow and meaningful or quick and angry. It was nothing to think about, because Louis knew he wasn’t anything to _be_ thought of. 

“You can come in, if you want.” Louis said, not bothering to wait for an answer. He turned and walked back into the house, hanging a left down the hall. Harry didn’t recognize the inside because he’d never actually seen the inside. Not once had Louis invited him over for a sleepover or to play in the garden, ever. He’d invited Harry to hang out but they’d go to the park or Harry’s house or to meet Hannah but never at this house. 

Harry left a quick glance at Zayn, who hadn’t moved, before stepping inside with lightened steps, as if he were afraid the floors would break. Harry closed the door and tried to follow where Louis had gone without glancing into the other rooms. As curious as he was, he knew he shouldn’t pry. Stepping into the last room on the left, Harry watched as Louis poured a glass of water from the pitcher. He took a subtle glance at the open fridge to find its contents near gone except for a bottle of ranch dressing and what looked like a leftover box of pizza. Apparently he wasn’t very subtle at all because Louis quickly put back the pitcher and shut the door, the faster movement Harry had seen out of him yet.

Louis handed Harry the glass upon walking past the taller boy, and into the room directly across. Harry took a moment to note the intended lack of physical contact but tried not to read into it. He turned and walked across the hall once more and took a seat on the couch opposite Louis (he didn’t have the courage to sit in the reclining chair, and it was probably a good choice because Louis visibly relaxed as he took the couch). 

Louis receded in on himself, visibly shrinking as he felt Harry’s eyes all over him. He evidently hadn’t had someone properly look at him in a long time. It wasn’t hard to understand why. 

“It’s good to see you.” Harry’s head snapped up from looking down at the glass of water, eyes wide with surprise, but it only took a moment for him to realize that Louis wasn’t telling the truth, he was just playing the part of the long-lost best friend. And he was frankly doing a shitty job of it. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Lou.” Harry said quietly, wincing himself as Louis shifted uncomfortably at the now-foreign nickname. “I’m only here to explain myself.” And ok, maybe those weren’t the words Harry wanted to use because something angry turned on inside Louis’ eyes. 

Harry hadn’t known empty eyes were better than bitter ones.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Harry.” Louis bit out, his teeth clenching the only indicator that he was feeling anything. Harry shrank back at the spite in his own name, wishing so intently now that he was better with words.

“Yes I do, okay? Let me do this.” Harry whispered desperately. No movement or shift in emotion in Louis gave him the queue to start. He breathed nervously before a monologue of sorts threw itself at Harry’s tongue. His five-second filter went to the wind.

“I thought you were dead Louis, like really, seriously dead and not breathing and in the ground. That’s what my parents told me, you got hit by a car and-and you died on impact and they were burying you next Monday except then they moved us to Cheshire and I kind of just went too. Not that I wasn’t upset that you died, I-I mean I cried for days and I couldn’t go to school for two weeks. And I only came back here because I wanted to visit and I didn’t know you were even here until Zayn told me the other day but he wouldn’t let me come see you so we went to the park and I saw you and you were really quiet and it was late and-“ Harry paused, looking at Louis, realizing he’d just admitted to stalking him, “so now I’m here and I just wanted you to know that I didn’t, you know, leave you here without telling you, because you know I thought you were….dead.”

Louis didn’t say anything, just stared at Harry, who was only waiting for some kind of semblance that the older boy understood. He was avoiding looking at Louis’ left eye, the one with the circled scar. This silence could have lasted a minute or ten but Harry was itching to say something else to try and get Louis to respond.

“Is that all?”

“Wait, what?” Harry swallowed the bile in his throat.

“Is that all you came to say?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond before deciding against using the first word he thought of, which was ‘yes.’

“No, um, no. I-I also want to understand…” 

“Understand…?”

“What happened to you after I left.”

Louis went silent. His eyebrows lowered and his eyes fell to his lap and for once in his life he looked withdrawn, not blank. Louis knew there was no excuse as ‘what are you talking about’ because the evidence was all over his face.

“I got caught in a house fire. Faultly wiring or something.” Louis answered after a while, looking less and less upset with each telling word. Harry wasn’t so sure of the answer, but it was obvious Louis was done talking.

“You should go now.” Louis forced out, standing and walking towards the front door without further explanation. Harry stood abruptly and took the obvious hint, following quickly after Louis. Two steps before the front door, though, the less than sturdy floorboards gave under Harry’s right foot, successfully making a very crude hole in the hardwood floor. 

“Shit! Louis, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it-“

“No, really it’s fine. You should go.” Louis said, almost robotically. 

Harry watched him for too long before he lifted his foot out of the newly-furnished gaping hole, ignorant of the deep scrapes and splinters in his ankle. He stopped infront of Louis for some type of dismissal, but Louis didn’t need one. He turned and walked up the staircase, Harry watching the way he avoided some steps and not others, before he disappeared with a hard jerk of a door meeting its frame.

Harry took a moment to stand and try to make sense of Louis’ behavior, but gave in to the uneasiness the house gave him as he stood in it alone. He glanced down the empty hallway, through the sliding glass door to the garden Harry remembered hearing about. But all he saw was green.

He pushed open the front door and closed it quietly behind him, making an effort to try and not limp back to Zayn’s car and failing. Zayn rolled down the window as Harry grew closer. 

“Oh my god, what happened?! Did he hurt you?!” Zayn said, putting the car into drive even as Harry was just climbing into the passenger seat. He looked down at Harry’s ankle as the taller boy pulled it up onto the seat and rolled the leg of his jeans. Splinters and red scrapes littered the pale skin, but Harry didn’t fully acknowledge it.

“No, just drive me back.” Harry said, almost as emptily as Louis would have sounded, and recognizing this, Zayn wanted Harry as far away from that house as possible.

Zayn’s phone buzzed in the cupholder, and Harry could make out what it read before Zayn quickly shoved it into his pocket.

[From:/ Louis]  
 **go fuck yourself**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME


End file.
